Re-Opening The Lines Of Communication
by DalWriter
Summary: This is my take on how the next episode of False Flag, the NCIS-LA season 10 finale or perhaps the season 11 opener should end for our favorite JAG lawyers. Deeks, Kensi, Sabatino, Hetty & Webb are mentioned but don't figure prominently into the story.


**RE-OPENING THE LINES OF COMMUNICATION**

This is my take on how the next episode of _False Flag,_ the _NCIS-LA_ season 10 finale or perhaps the season 11 opener should end for our favorite _JAG_ lawyers.

After the longest seven minutes of his life, Captain Harmon Rabb was exhausted. It was one thing when he was the jet jockey in the air trying to shoot down the missile streaking across the sky, but it was something else entirely to stand impotently on the deck of a carrier not being able to do a damn thing except wait. Fortunately, the C-STADs protecting Israel and Saudi Arabia did their jobs, with a little help from some Air Force fighters based out of Jordan.

Disaster averted, Harm headed down to the Officers' Wardroom for a cup of tea. The last thing he needed right now was caffeine. His adrenaline was working in overdrive, not just because of the terrorists' missile attack but because of two unsettling video conference calls. Marine Liaison to the State Department indeed. It was amazing to him that with all of his military and legal training and all his time in the air in combat situations, seeing her, hearing her voice after all these years could have him so rattled.

Fixing his tea with just a few drops of lemon juice the XO took a calming sip, hoping the chamomile would soothe his raw nerves. Looking around he spied the former SEAL turned NCIS agent sitting alone at the far end of the dining hall. He walked over and asked as he sat down, "Mind if I join you?"

"It's your ship, XO," came Sam's reply.

Harm smiled banally at that response. When he had been in the service, despite being a SEAL, Hanna had been a Master Chief, a rank well below Captain. Even if the other man hadn't wanted company, despite not technically being bound by the rigors of rank anymore, military protocol would not have allowed him to refuse Harm's intrusion.

"Helluva, day," Harm observed, trying to make conversation.

"At least the good guys won this round," Sam replied.

"How are your operatives on the ground and the SEALs?" Harm asked after Sam's teammates.

"Callen is checking on them now but if something happened, we would have heard," Sam assured him. "I just wish I could get my hands on Sabatino. Just once. I hate spooks. Especially that one."

Hearing Sam complain about the CIA operative who failed to contain the ISIS cell on his ship made Harm think about the spook he hated the most, Clayon Webb. There was another person he hadn't thought about in years. Thinking about Webb of course made him think about Mac. After 9 years, she still looked amazing. He wondered if her new job put him in Webb's path and bed these days. Although Harm loved being at sea and knew he and Mac made the right decision all those years ago when the agreed to split up. It was painful to let her go because not talking had been hard but also necessary. It was just too hard to have part of her when they simply couldn't make it work. He always kept track of her. All of their old friends and JAG kept him abreast of her career, even if he didn't know much about her personal life. He hadn't seen a ring, so he guessed that was something. Remembering there was someone else at the table Harm commiserated, "I know the feeling. When I was back at JAG there was a certain Deputy Assistant to the Under Secretary of State who was a royal pain in my six."

Hanna smiled wanly at the Captain. Spooks were the same where ever you went. "Why can't they ever just admit they work for the Company rather than coming up with all these cute titles that fool no one? And for once can't they think about the human consequences of their actions?" Being a SEAL Harm knew that Sam took the military creed of no one left behind as sacrosant.

Before Harm could say anything, Callan joined them. "Everybody's good. Kensi, Wallace and Sabatino are all fine. Deeks got hit on the head by some falling gear."

"Is the gear OK?" Sam inquired sarcastically. As much as he respected Deeks after all these years and countless missions, especially after he protected Michelle, the shaggy detective still got under the squared away SEAL's skin.

Noticing Harm's perplexed look at Sam's seeming lack of concern for an injured teammate, Callan explained, "Deeks is our L.A.P.D. liaison officer. He's been part of our team for years, but his unconventional methods raise Sam's hackles at times."

"If he could just a haircut," Sam complained.

"Kensi likes 'em shaggy. You know that," Callen replied, then added for Harm's benefit. "Deeks and Kenz are married so even though he's been with us for years, he's not technically a federal employee because NCIS prefers that whole not in the same chain of command thing even though the U.C.M.J. doesn't apply to us."

"It wouldn't. You're civilians," Harm confirmed. He was well aware of the anti-fraternization rules. If those didn't exist, it wouldn't have taken him and Mac nine years the first time. Who knows where they would be right now? Although deep in his heart of hearts Harm knew they'd be exactly where they were – on opposite sides of the world. As much as they loved each other, neither of them were good at relationships.

"Speaking of liaisons, that was one beautiful Colonel. I've never seen a Marine that looked like that before," Callan acclaimed.

Harm scowled. When it came to Mac he'd always had a jealous streak. He wasn't surprised that his green-eyed monster was still just as powerful after all these years.

Callan was oblivious but Sam felt the Captain tense at his partner's comments.

"You said you worked with her in D.C. She married? Seeing anyone?" Callan asked.

"I know she was engaged a while back but that didn't work out," Harm said sadly.

"Hmmm," Callen took in that information wondering how it should factor into his approach. "Maybe I'll look her up when we get back." Rising from the table still unaware of Harm's discomfort with this plan, Callan announced, "I'm gonna go see when we're getting off this tub."

Sam sat looking at Harm across the table. Only the most keen observer could see that Callan's comments rattled the seasoned officer. "Don't worry about him. By the time we land he will have moved on to a pretty flight attendant. He's got the attention span of a flea when it comes to women. Wiling and present are his most preferred criteria."

Harm smiled gratefully at Sam. He didn't like hearing that Callan was a bit of Lothario, but he knew that would be a strike against the younger man in Mac's book. Well at least it would if she was still using the same playbook Harm thought ruefully. He didn't really know how Mac operated these days. None of his sources had that kind of inside information or insight. "Does your office regularly work with Ma. . ., Col. McKenzie?"

Knowing they were now getting to the real reason Harm had come over to him, Sam decided to tell the Captain the truth. "That was actually the first time I'd ever seen her or interacted with her. We do get entangled with State a fair amount and I always knew Hetty had a special contact there. I never knew the identify of that contact person or even that she was a she before today."

It was Harm's turn to nod without saying more.

"Callan is right about one thing. She is a very beautiful woman." For some reason Sam was in a mood to pry. Usually he wasn't like that, being a very private person himself. Something told him Harm needed a push though. He missed Michelle dearly and was acutely aware that life could change in an instant. "You and the Colonel did more then work together." It wasn't a question.

The lawyer in Harm cautioned him to disclose nothing but he needed to talk to somebody. "It was after our time in D.C."

"You were the Fiancé on the engagement that didn't work out." Again, not a question.

"Guilty as charged," Harm admitted.

Although it was well hidden, Sam recognized the heartbreak he saw in the other man's eyes. "How long has it been?"

"Nine years."

"Nine years since you broke up?" Sam asked.

"Nine years since we have seen or spoken to each other," Harm confessed.

Sam inhaled and scowled momentarily. This was worse than he thought. "Bad break up?"

Harm scoffed. "No. Not really. It was all very civilized. We'd been drifting apart. Couldn't pick a wedding date. Work kept getting in the way. I had transferred to the Reserves and tried civilian law for a while, but it wasn't for me. I wanted back in and when I was offered carrier duty, I jumped at the chance but the long deployments scuttled our relationship."

"If you love her, you gotta made it work. Michelle, my wife . . . my late wife . . .was killed two years ago. I'd do anything to have her back." Sam stared straight at Harm as only a SEAL can, silently challenging the Officer to go fight for what he wanted.

Harm wasn't having it. "You don't know Mac. Trust me; I have blown all my second chances with her."

"Time has a way of softening some of those rough edges and hurt feelings. There was something about the way you two sounded toward the end of the conversation, when it was personal not about the op. . .I suspect she may be more forgiving then you think," Sam offered.

Harm was not so sure. "You were a SEAL. You ever met a JarHead that didn't hold a grudge?"

Rising to go find Callan, Sam offered one last piece of advice, "Maybe don't call her a JarHead when you talk to her. They don't like being reminded that we Navy men think they are stubborn and unreasonable."

Harm chuckled. Between them, all the nicknames for their respective branches and designators were more like terms of affection but he was smart enough to realize not picking a fight first thing was the better move.

It was almost 2300 local time when Harm finally returned to his rack. The past few days had been a roller coaster, with the biggest curve being his beautiful Marine. God she was gorgeous, but she wasn't his anymore.

There had been so much more say but standing in the center of CIC with dozens of sailors around over a secure channel on the verge of a shooting war in the Middle East was not the time or place for flirting.

He was so tired and distracted from the incessant Ops Tempo on this cruise that he almost missed the piece of paper that was tucked into the door of his cabin. Plucking it out of the jamb he stepped over the knee knocker and into his quarters. Unfolding it, he read in masculine neat block print: _her classified personal cell number is (310) 555-2252. Hetty says not to screw it up this time_.

Chuckling Harm realized that Sam must have asked the NCIS-Los Angeles Director for Mac's personal number. He wondered if he should call her after all this time but seeing her awoke a deep longing to talk to her about more than the powder-keg that was geo-politics these days. It wasn't like she could call him directly without going through lawyers of proper channels, all of which was far too indiscreet for a personal call. After thinking for a few minutes, Harm made his decision. He picked up the satellite phone in his cabin and dialed her number; rank has its privileges. He probably should have used the phone bank designated for personal calls but he reasoned he was merely trying to debrief a colleague so he could complete his after-action report. At least that he what he would tell anybody who inquired about the call. It was early evening in LA so he doubted he'd be disturbing her even though she must have been up before sunrise this morning to monitor that video game and get them the information they needed to save the ship.

The phone rang twice before she answered "Hello?" Her voice sounded a bit wary, but she probably didn't recognize the number. He supposed he should be happy she picked up at all but then again, how many people had this number? The note said it was her personal cell. A CIA issue phone would have had a 202-area code.

"Hey Mac! It's. . . " he opened.

"Harm!" she supplied. "It's good to hear your voice." Since he first appeared on that screen, Mac had long to reach out, but she knew she couldn't reach him without going through proper official channels which she was unwilling to do. She correctly guessed that he had asked one of the NCIS agents aboard to get this number from Hetty.

"Yours too," he agreed. There was an awkward silence. Neither really knowing what to say or where to begin with a half a world and nine years between them. Harm plunged ahead. He had made this call after all. "It's been a helluva few days."

"Sure has," Mac responded.

"I ah . . . . I wasn't expecting to see you. . . But you didn't look quite as shocked to see me," Harm opened.

Mac took a calming breathe. "I'd been briefed. I've known you were the XO aboard the _Allegiance_ since you got the billet. So, I knew you'd be on the call. You always are where the action is."

Harm couldn't tell if that was bitterness in Mac's voice. His need to be on the front lines is one of the things that drove a wedge between them. He was never satisfied with being a house husband. He was secretly pleased to know that she'd been keeping tabs on him. He had only known she retired from the Corps and had a new government job.

"You are still a deadly combination of efficient and beautiful, he praised. "Seeing you again today. I'd forgotten how beautiful you are, Sarah." His voice had dropped to a husky timber.

It was that tone Mac always recognized as his bedroom voice, seductive and smooth. It still turned her on like nobody's business especially when he said her real name, but she wasn't going to fall prey to his fly boy charm again. Attempting to steal her heart, she teased, "Now, where have I heard that before? You almost make me sound forgettable."

"Hardly," Harm promised. "Back in Paraguay I was longing to see what those bubbles concealed. Now I know better. I am fully familiar with exactly how captivating you are. You do things to a man . . . just by standing there."

Mac smiled. She didn't need to see his handsome face to know he was leering at her. Harm always was a silver-tongued devil. Hearing him talk about their past certainly did things to her too but she wasn't going to tell him that. Loving Harmon Rabb Jr. was a one way ticket to heartache and she didn't want to take that ride again, did she?

Harm wisely changed the subject. "So, liaison to State, huh?"

"Yeah. After you left . . , " she didn't mean to blame him. "The politics. The bureaucracy. Being the boss isn't all that it's cracked up to be. You don't get the good cases. You dole them out to your underlings and they get to have all the fun. I was a paper pusher. Budget meetings. Personnel issues. Making sure all the incoming privates and petty officers had their wills and powers of attorney and they took somebody with them when the bought a car or signed a lease for off base housing. It all just got to be too much. So when my 20 was up, I put in my papers and then this job came open. I'm back in the field but on the diplomatic side. Way less dangerous."

"I guess there are fewer flying bullets or dodging bombing runs in the desert," Harm chuckled as he recounted the night they spent in Afghanistan after their Jeep hit a landmine. "Diplomacy suits you."

"Yeah no more gun fights. Heck, I haven't been in a plane crash in years. My life is almost boring," Mac kidded her former fiancé.

Talking to her felt like almost no time had passed. Harm let his guard down and the next question just slipped out. "Almost? Does that mean there is somebody making it exciting?" He hoped it wasn't Webb. He would never understand what she saw in that guy.

Mac didn't respond immediately. How dare he ask her something so personal! She wasn't about to tell him that there was no one. He was the yardstick against which she measured all other men and they all came up woefully short. Harm was tall dark and handsome. He was a fighter pilot, a hero and a brilliant lawyer all rolled into one. When you add in gold wings, a white suit and that killer smile, Harm could get into bed anywhere. Granted it took them 9 years to get into hers but while they were together, let's just say none of their problems had anything to do with the bedroom, only how infrequently they seemed to be in the same bedroom. Now was not the time to recount all of his failings or attributes. In Mac's opinion, Harm's already inflated ego didn't need to be stroked any more, at least not by her. Instead she retorted, "That's classified."

Harm smiled at the deflection but pressed on. He hadn't had a meaningful relationship since they split. There had been a few one-night stands, but nobody he cared to share a second night with. Smart, gorgeous, sexy as hell and deadly was a tough act to follow. "I do have top secret clearance," he reminded her, like she didn't know.

"Maybe, sailor, but you haven't been read in on my private life in a long time," Mac reminded him. "What about you? A girl in every port I bet." She knew him too well. She also knew that he was not the type of man to be celibate. He enjoyed the carnal side of life way too much.

"I don't kiss and tell," Harm demurred. He wasn't doing to tell her that all women paled in comparison to her. Instead he changed the subject, "When this cruise is over, I'll be back in San Diego. Maybe we can . . ."

Mac cut him off. She was sick of the broken promises and the deferred meetings. She didn't want to be a drive by while he was in town. They tried that for almost 4 years 9 years ago and it didn't work. "Harm," she chastised. "Just don't." She couldn't go down that road waiting for him, missing him when her schedule took her away just as he was stateside and wondering why she wasn't enough to make him stay. Fate may have brought them together, but it also kept them apart. As much as she loved him, she couldn't do it all again. Being alone kept her sane. It kept her from being lonely, from longing for what she couldn't have. She had been telling Hetty the truth. She had built a good life for herself. She had two great careers. Lord knows she had a closet full of comfortable shoes. She resigned herself to the cold truth that she would never be the girl that got the guy. As the song went, though, 2 outta 3 ain't bad.

Without admitting defeat Harm acquiesced to Mac's preference not to talk about the past or the future. Just talking to her at all was a blessing. He wasn't going to press his luck too much. Maybe if this conversation ended on a positive note, she'd take his call the next time. "It's getting late."

"Yeah. 1649 zulu. You must be exhausted," Mac observed.

"After all we've been through, I still can't believe you won't tell me how you do that," Harm joked.

"I told you some things are classified," Mac replied giving him the same old line. Truth is she didn't know_ how_ she could innately tell time. It was just something she'd always been able to do.

"I was good talking to you," Harm volunteered.

"It was good talking to you, too," Mac agreed. "Maybe we shouldn't wait 9 years between conversations."

"I'd like that. If it's OK with you, I'll put this number in my cell phone for next time," Harm suggested.

"I'd like that," Mac assured him.

"Good night, Sarah."

"'Night, Harm. Sweet dreams," she wished.

"They will be. They'll be about you," Harm predicted as he hung up.


End file.
